Operation: Interlude
by Emil Lime
Summary: Chris Redfield wakes to find himself in the captivity of a madman, one that forces him to participate in a deadly game of cat and mouse. But Chris isn't the only one ensnared in this scheme. Jake Muller's after the man behind it all, a man he use to call father. All while Leon S. Kennedy slowly uncovers a massive conspiracy that threatens the very existence of the United States.
1. 1:33 pm on August 3rd, 2014

A/N: Hello and thanks for clicking on my story! For anyone reading my fanfic, "Piers' Lament", don't worry, I'm not abandoning it. I've just been working on this one for a while now and a recent set of updates from one of my favorite authors, Isla Bell (go read her fics Shelter and Self-Sabotage, it's good stuff) inspired me to start posting this story. I hope to post at least every one to two weeks, so be on the lookout for that. Either way, please read and review! Feel free to leave constructive criticism or even just a 'good job'. I'm not picky.

Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil or it's characters. If I did, I wouldn't be writing a fanfiction about it, would I?

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_Your orders are as follows:_

_Locate the terrorists' main base of operation_

_Find your way inside-avoiding detection_

_Gather intel via any method-except interrogation_

_Obtain a sample_

_Exit the area and contact headquarters_

**_DO NOT ENGAGE THE ENEMY_**

_Do you understand your orders?_

_Do you accept your mission?_

_Proceed with Operation: Interlude_

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Chapter One: 1:33 pm on August 3rd, 2014

* * *

Chris' head ached as he came to. No, scratch that. His entire body felt like it'd been run over by a jet engine. Just what had happened?

Searching his memory, the mission brief he'd been given not 24 hours ago flashed in his head. He was hunting down terrorists. Or, more specifically, hunting down a new biological agent-a new virus.

Had he agreed to go alone? Possibly, yes. After all, it was just an intelligence sweep. If Chris was remembering right, all he needed to do was infiltrate the base and swipe a sample of the virus.

The bold faced, all cap font at the end of the mission brief came back to him, do not engage the enemy. Well, he apparently hadn't managed that one.

Shifting uncomfortably, Chris opened his eyes, vision blurry, and looked about his holding place. A jail cell-quaint-with the heavy smell of alcohol burning at his nose. The humidity was high too, Chris already breaking a sweat. He wasn't locked up-beside the whole being behind bars thing-and was simply lying on a cot. Sitting up slowly, body still aching, the brunette focused his gaze into the darkened hall just beyond his bars. More cells sat before him, but they were empty.

Upon listening closely, he could hear people murmuring. Were they guards or prisoners? Whoever they were, they weren't speaking English, Chris knew that for sure.

Desperately, he tried to remember where exactly he'd pinpointed the terrorists' base. Somewhere tropical, his best guess at the moment, but that wasn't necessarily helpful to him right now, especially since he didn't even know if he was there or not. Regardless of that, though, he knew he needed to get out. Wherever he was, it wouldn't matter if he was dead.

A quick look down at himself and he could see, even though the bits of haze in his sight, that they'd taken his clothes and weapons. Currently, he was wearing a simple cotton jumpsuit, orange in color. No doubt a standard in prison fashion.

_Ok, so first things first. Find a weapon…_

Standing, albeit slowly, he walked over to the bars, wrapped his large hands around them. They were warm to the touch and the sweat from his palms caused his fingers to slide a little as he leaned forward, attempting to gaze deeper into the hallway.

Aside from a few specks of orange inside some of the other cells, Chris didn't see anything of interest. Then the distinct sounds of footsteps came to him and, turning his eyes back into the hall, he could see men, armed to the teeth with ammunition and automatic gun, walking. Their boots clicked against the hard floor in unison and the orange dots that were once within Chris' vision shuffled out of sight.

The brunette didn't move. He stood there, grasping the bars, as he watched the men walk by. Their sun tanned skin, darkened and coated in sweat, gleamed dimly in the light as they approached Chris' cell, stopping in front of it.

Everything went silent, not even the slightest hint of breathing could be heard. Shifting uneasily, the brunette held his glare at them, even as one shouted off a command and the entire group did a quick turn. At once, the tiny army was facing Chris and the emptiness of their eyes sent a shiver down his spine.

The one who shouted the command spoke first, a Russian accent thick in his voice, "You have been chosen as the next contestant."

"Contestant? What do you mean?" Chris growled as he stood himself taller. The last thing he wanted to do was look weak in front of him, look like prey.

"All will be explained to you when you enter the chamber. Your Trial awaits." Without waiting for another question or comment from Chris, the Russian man used the butt of his gun to break away the rusted lock that clung to the door. A creaking echoed off the stone walls as the door slowly swung open. The Russian nodded at the brunette, the others positioning their guns at the ready.

Chris didn't move. "What if I refuse?"

At once, the clicking of guns cocking filled the silent space. The Russian spoke plainly, "Then our master will choose another."

_Master…? So, whoever's running this show._

Stepping out silently, Chris didn't bother resisting. As good as fleeing sounded, he wasn't interested in becoming full of holes. The Russian man grabbed hold of Chris' arm, causing him to gasp. But not out of pain.

The coldness that came from the Russian's hand was unnatural, almost eerie. He felt dead and honestly, Chris had to wonder if he was. Had some virus already been put into use? Was this the result of infection? An animated corpse, one that did not visibly rot away? The Russian pushed him to the front of the unit, whose guns were still trained on Chris' back. Shouting out a command yet again in another language, the group began walking in unison, Chris' feet falling into the rhythm as they marched him through the hallway.

Never turning his head, Chris still looked around, eyes catching on the multitude of orange prisoners he hadn't been able to see before.

_Are they all like me? Military?_

It didn't take long to exit the dark hallway, leaving the damp, dank world to enter one of brilliant light. Chris flinched under the burning sun's bright rays and he felt the sweat roll down him in bucket fulls. The humidity was even worse outside than it was in.

The sound of a heavy, metal door closing-along with several bolt locks being engaged-came to Chris' senses. His brown eyes shot in the noise's direction, catching sight of a black, stone building.

_The prison ward._

One of the men shoved Chris, causing him to stumble forward. Eyes finally adjusting to the light, he glared back at the man who'd pushed him but not even a scowl crossed the stranger's face. The Russian spoke up, "Keep your eyes forward. It won't be long until we're there."

Doing as he was told, Chris kept his head trained forward but that didn't stop him from looking around with his eyes. Toughs of concrete littered the ground, most of it broken and buried beneath the harsh greenery. There were scrapes of metal buried halfway underground as well, their shiny surface caked with rust, staining it a blood color. And in the distance, Chris could make out what looked like more buildings, albeit small ones. Maybe more prisoners were held there? He'd have to investigate that later given the chance. Foliage, thick and bright green against the brilliant sky, coated the world beyond the distant buildings. Just where was he?

They marched for what felt like an eternity and, by the end of it, Chris was already starting to feel dehydrated. Definitely not a good sign. The small army had only stopped marching when a large fortress-like building stood before them, hidden away by the foliage that surrounded it and the camouflage paint job the stone had received. Many tall, though now overtaken by plants, towers surrounded the facility, looming over Chris. Moving forward, they went past a tall security fence, one topped with razor sharp wire and charged with electricity to boot, passing through a gate guarded by several more people with the same blank looks on their faces.

The brunette was starting to sense a trend and the possibility that this virus had already been tested on a small population seemed more and more likely.

Finally, after a couple more security checks, Chris and his group of lifeless soldiers reached the fortress, entering quietly through a pair of large double doors. Taking several long halls and twisting turns, they reached a stairwell. Climbing it, even though Chris' legs protested against it, they reached the very top floor of the facility. A heavy, metal door stood at the top of the stairs and the Russian pulled out a key and opened it. Upon entering, Chris' jaw nearly dropped.

The interior held tens of monitors, each with a man stationed at it. In the center was a large table, maps sprawled across it. Several more of the papers were hanging on the wall, though currently they were mostly ignored. Large panes of glass circled the entire room, letting in the harsh, orange sunlight. The humidity clung to the windows, sliding down effortlessly and continually, as if produced by a rainstorm.

Chris had no problem recognizing what he was looking at.

An air traffic control room. Old, yes, but all the same. He was probably at a retired airfield, which would explain the concrete and metal scraps he'd seen on his way to the large building.

The cold touch of the Russian man startled Chris, the brunette being yanked to the side towards what appeared to be a closed off office space. The glass had been covered over and when the door was open, he felt the posh push of cool wind brush against his sizzling skin. Artificial lights tickled his eyes as he entered along with the Russian, the other standing guard outside.

Everything inside the office space was clean and orderly, almost so much so that it bothered Chris. It was luxurious compared to the dilapidated state of the rest of the complex. But he put that aside, his chocolate eyes coming to rest on a middle aged man sitting at a large, newly finished desk. The middle aged man smiled up at him from a thick file he was holding. Letting the folder and its content drop to the desk with a 'thud', the man stood up and gestured widely. "Welcome to my humble little paradise, Captain Redfield. I've been expecting you."

The man's voice was deep with a confidence even Chris wasn't sure he could manage. It was borderline cocky.

Chris didn't hesitate to speak, "Where the hell am I? What are you planning?"

The man shook his head, "I suppose that's _your_ job, isn't it? To find out what I'm planning. As for where you are, I'm surprised you don't remember but, again, that's your problem, not mine."

Keeping his cool despite the heat, Chris shook his head, "What do you want?"

A smile appeared on the middle aged man's lips, "I want a lot of things, Redfield, most of which you could never give me."

"You know what I mean. What is it you're after?"

The man shrugged noncommittally, "Fun."

"What?" The simplicity of the answer threw him for a loop. A one-worded, single syllable answer. "What do you mean by 'fun'?"

Shaking his head, the middle aged man scoffed, "Regardless of what I mean, Redfield, I have decided that you are the best candidate for the next Trial." He turned towards the desk again, opening the file he'd been holding upon Chris' arrival in the air-conditioned room. Thumbing through the crisp pages, he spoke as he worked on locating what he was looking for, "Starting at sunrise, we'll be playing a game. It's a game that no one has yet won but, don't let that discourage you. It's never any fun if you don't try."

"What kind of game?"

"It's a simple game with simple rules. You see, all you have to do is escape."

Chris frowned, "I'm assuming there's more to it than that."

The middle aged man smirked, "Naturally."

"Care to share?"

He stopped his searching and looked up, "Starting tomorrow, my men will hunt you all over this island. There's a plane, fully fueled, sitting on this island with your name on it. If you escape, then you win. If you're caught, well, I guess I'll leave that part to your imagination." A cold smile broke across his lip, "Sound like fun?"

_Escape an island before being caught. Yeah, sounds like tons of fun…_

That didn't resolve the real reason Chris had come here to begin with, to obtain a sample of the new virus. Even if he couldn't remember much about the mission he'd been given, he did remember that. If this guy was the terrorist and was already using it on his own men, then it wouldn't be long before he started using it on innocent people, or worse, selling it to the highest bidders. Right now, pending Chris' safe return to the States, the BSAA would know where this place was, where the virus was. If the middle aged man sold it off, it could end up anywhere on the globe. With no sample, no anti-virus could be made and that would spell disaster before too long.

The man began shifting through the papers again, but the brunette spoke up anyway, "I'm not leaving without a sample of your virus."

Not even bothering to look up or stop what he was doing, the middle aged man fumbled with the sheets some more as he replied, "I fully intend on giving you one."

There was no way it was that simple. Chris just knew it wasn't that simple. "What's your catch?"

"No catch. You just have to get off the island with it, is all." Finally reaching the paper he was looking for, he twisted the folder on the desk, pushing it towards Chris. "Your sample is here." The middle aged man's finger tapped the sheet, causing the brunette to look down.

He couldn't breathe as he regarded the page, couldn't even think. Chris' entire body went numb and his eyes kept flicking between the paper on the desk and the man before him. Was he lying? Was this some kind of trick? What Chris was seeing on the page was just impossible. Wasn't it?

"Well," the middle aged man smirked, a bone chilling thrill in his voice, "Are you ready to begin the Trial?"


	2. 2:04 pm on August 3rd, 2014

__A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, follows and favorites! It means a lot to me when you take the time to do those things, especially review. In fact, it was because of the enthusiasm from those three reviews that I sat my butt down and wrote up the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

Don't forget to review!

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_Subject Name: Unknown_

_Description: Terrorist_

_Known Aliases:_

_-Vladimir Russo  
__-Birk Salavory  
__-Regal Handson  
__-Mace Allison  
__-Akito Sakiyuki  
__-Luciano Hervey  
__-Jack Rooth  
__-Les Author  
__-Takashi Hadeki__  
_

_Status: Alive_

_Location: Unknown_

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Chapter Two: 2:04 pm on August 3rd, 2014

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His heart was pounding as he ran, hammering painfully into his chest. Sweat rolled off of him in fat drops, drenching the thin cotton he wore. The sun was roasting his skin, the heat making him dizzy. But Chris didn't stop running.

He wasn't sure how long it'd been since he left the broken down airport and headed into the wilderness. The middle aged man had assured him that he wouldn't be tailed and that the sick little game Chris would be participating in wouldn't start until tomorrow at sunrise. Judging by the position of the sun, it was past noon.

_I still have time. I can get what I came here for and get off this island before the Trial begins…_

Thankfully, it wasn't much longer until he reached the building that was displayed in the file he'd been shown. A small black building painted with letters Chris assumed spelled 'biohazard'. It was looking better for ware than he was. Huffing in the moist air, the brunette pushed open the door, finding it unlocked.

_That's never a good sign._

Stepping inside, the darkness of the doorway shielded him from the bright rays of the sun, making him instantly cooler. Squinting to see through the inky blackness, he could see a steep stairwell descending before him. Chris didn't hesitate. Putting his foot forward, he stepped onto the first step, than the second, each new echoing click causing his heart to beat a little faster. Soon, the light of the open door above was eaten away by the cold darkness and Chris found himself groping the walls for support.

Upon reaching the final stair, a small blue light glowed dimly further ahead, casting long shadows that blended in with the surrounding darkness. Heading forward, Chris eventually fell under the blue hue and the markings of a door stood before him. There were words on it, but he couldn't read them. The handle was cool to the touch, the heat not managing to permeate the cellar he now stood in. Wrapping his powerful hand around the cold metal knob, he felt his heart rate increase tenfold. It pounded heavily against his eardrum, each beat being felt at the very tip of his fingers. What he'd seen in that file, what had made him feel so uneasy, flashed through his mind rapidly.

_Calm down, Chris. You have to calm down…_

Swallowing, he turned the door knob in one swift motion, jerking it forward. Instantly, he was hit by a wave of decay. The stench made him gag and his hands flew to his mouth and nose. The air was thick with blood, so much so it was stinging his eyes. Blinking out the pain, he took in the surroundings, a mixture of shock and awe filling his system.

Before his was a narrow research lab. It housed several computers and large test tubes, some filled with a frothy liquid and some not. Tables, stacked with documents and files, sat idly by, simply watching Chris come in. There were people-probably dead-that littered the ground, some slouched in their computer chairs as if taking a nap. Farther in, he could see more technology, more test tubes, along with shelves and shelves of beakers and vials. A dull coat of red covered many of their surfaces, and in the dim light of the monitors, Chris could make out what looked less like human remains and more like animal ones.

_BOWs._

Working his way deeper inside, he made sure to watch his step. A dead body was something that legitimately freaked Chris out. He was used to seeing them come back to life, use to having them grab him from behind, but if they just stayed there? In place? Never moving?

It freaked the hell out of him.

As he continued his trek, the bodies becoming less and less recognizable. They were torn up, yes, but their skin and shape…it was just off. They didn't _look_ human, or animal for that matter. They looked _different_.

_Possibly an effect of the new virus? Was there an outbreak in this lab? Is that why no one's cleaned up this mess? But if that's the case, it's possible I've become infected just by walking in here..._

He couldn't afford to think like that. All Chris had to do was get a hold of the virus sample that'd been promised to him and get the hell of the island before sunrise. He'd leave researchers-virologists-to figure out the ins and outs of the virus.

As he reached the end of the room, he could see the hall turned to the right and continued. More bodies, more shelves, more tables, more test tubes. And at the very end of the hall, illuminated from behind, was a white curtain, stained brilliantly with what Chris could only assume was blood. Everything seemed to stop before it, the bodies, the technology, the tables...everything. It was as if they were afraid of whatever lie beyond that tainted cloth.

An icy feeling settled in Chris' stomach.

Something wasn't right.

The chill of the room seemed to increase as he walked towards the glowing curtain, cooling his sweat soaked body enough to cause him to shiver. The farther he got, the more anxious he became. He recalled what the middle aged man had showed him, recalled what he'd said. There was just no way any of it was right, though. Just the mere thought made him sick to his stomach. If the middle aged man was telling the truth, Chris wasn't sure how he'd live with himself. As he stepped over the final body, he stood before the white slate painted red. The entire room went into a hush, even the hum of the computers quieting down. Every nerve inside of his body tingled fiercely as his eyes remained fixed on what hung before him.

_I can do this…_

He took in a deep breath, the air still thick with dust and blood.

_Whatever I find…_

His hand took hold of the dirty curtain.

_Whatever it is…_

With one solid yank, he removed the cloth from sight, revealing what was behind.

_I can do this…_

Nothing. There was nothing but a bloody medical table. Scattered at its feet were tens of dirtied knifes. Thick red ribbons twisted upon the ground like snakes, coiling to keep warm. Splashes of crimson stained the once pristine tile below and in the drain on the floor, Chris could make out fragments of bone. If something _had _been back here, it wasn't anymore.

Suddenly, his body was slammed to the floor, his head colliding with the ground. His ears were ringing and his vision danced back and forth, twisting upon itself. Struggling to get his bearings, Chris rolled onto his side just as something stabbed into where he'd been laying. Throwing a punch at whatever had tried to stab him, his fist made contact with it, causing it to retract it's blade.

Chris groped for anything he could use as a weapon, the cool handle of what he hoped was a knife tickling his fingertips. Working it into his palm, he stammered to his feet and faced his foe.

But he lost his breath, every nerve inside of him going numb.

Standing before him, just as the file had shown, was none other than Piers Nivans.


	3. 5:47 pm on August 3rd, 2014

__A/N: Thank you so much for adding this story to your follow and/or favorites! And a special thank you to those of you who took the time to review! Your kind words are what inspire me to sit my butt down and write on this story! Thanks again to everyone! Without further delay, here's chapter 3!

Don't forget to review!

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_Bio-Organic Weapons (BOW):_

_If confronted with one, do not engage directly. They are considered to be highly intelligent and very dangerous. Weapons, such as guns (automatic or semi-automatic), and fire are their greatest weakness. Most are not damaged by physical attacks. Though all BOWs are different, the various subtypes make them far more lethal than the average infected. Some function alone and hunt their prey, killing them with sheer force (See sub-section: Tyrant) while others hunt in large packs, overpowering their opponent by number rather than strength (See sub-section: Licker). And others yet hunt in small groups, using camouflage to better trick and capture their prey (See sub-section: Reaper). There are several different kinds of BOW, all of which are dangerous. Because not all kinds of BOW make it back to the lab for investigation, it is always best to avoid confronting them until more research can be done._

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Chapter Three: 5:47 pm on August 3rd, 2014

There was a tortured look across Piers' face and as he breathed heavily; Chris could see he was in pain. The mutated arm he'd obtained in the underwater facility looked worse than it had back then. It almost seemed to be pulsing, thirsting for the kill. And Piers' right eye, the one that was overtaken as well, it was open fully, yellow and focused on Chris. The iris was a small slit, like a cat's eye, glaring at the brunette. But the rest of his body was fine, no longer crusting over or slowly crystalizing. Other than the fact he looked like he was in utter pain, Piers looked like he had in that valiant moment he'd infected himself.

The sight made Chris' stomach churn.

His breathe labored, Piers stammered on his feet, his mutated arm being lifted towards the brunette. Chris recognized the stance and panic began to slowly creep into his veins.

"Don't do this, Piers." The metal object in Chris' hand felt heavier than lead. There was no way he could do it, no way he could kill Piers, a man he so highly respected. He couldn't even manage to lift the knife towards him.

The raised arm began to spark and glow. Lightning. What they'd used to defeat HAOS.

_Run._

His feet twisted for him, throwing him past the white curtain just as the thick bolts of electricity sparked, crashing into the medical table and the wall Chris had been against.

Through the lab he went, tripping and stumbling over every body that found its way under his feet. A loud sound, of metal being torn apart came, causing Chris to look back. Just as he did, the medical table, once bolted to the floor, was flying towards him, curtain in tow.

Dropping to the ground, Chris heard it whistle overhead and collide with the opposite wall, thousands of glass containers shattering on impact. Rushing to his feet, he rounded the corner of the lab and ran straight into a test tube. Shaking off the blow, he heard the rush of wind and ducked down just as the spiked end of the mutated arm rammed through the glass above.

Rotted liquid, reeking of death, poured out, splashing over Chris. He gagged, throwing himself out of the way as Piers drove his arm down, ripping apart what was left of the tube.

"Piers! Stop this!"

The body of Piers Nivans didn't so much as look at him, acknowledge his words, and it pained Chris more than dying would have.

He didn't waste time. Running towards the exit of the lab, the brunette could see the open door not more than 20 feet in front of him. From behind, thousands of volts of electricity sparked, dancing around him, shattering glass and equipment. But the door wasn't that far. He could make it. He could get out. He could figure out what to do then.

His legs moved faster than he ever thought possible, but that wasn't enough. Watching from the corner of his eye, Chris could see Piers jumping along the wall. He rushed ahead of the brunette, stopping in front of the door.

Coming to a halt, Chris' gaze was fixed on Piers, on that one golden eye. "Piers, get a hold of yourself. You don't have to do this."

Piers didn't respond. Instead, he lifted his arm, the electricity charging around it once again. The brunette watched as the blue electricity circled around the tender flesh, the sparks jumping in arches all over Piers' body.

Chris could feel the static in the air begin to rise. Every hair on his body stood on end, a tingling feeling encasing his skin.

"Piers!"

There was no sign of the BOW ending his charge, nor was there any sign that a human conscious still existed within. "Piers, it's me! Please!" Machines around the room began popping, the static build up the BOW was creating proving to be to much for the hardware to handle. Light bulbs shattered, raining their tiny pieces upon the floor. Chris called Piers' name again and again, but his former ally never so much as blinked that one disturbing eye at him. Instead, he looked ready to release the powerful charge.

Time seemed to slow down.

It was the second time in Chris' life he'd felt completely helpless. The first time was when Jill sacrificed herself to save him, pushing herself and Wesker out of the window of the Spencer Estate. He hadn't been able to do anything to save her. This time was no different. He felt defeated. What did it matter if he escaped this place with the virus sample? Another virus would be made and unleashed on the world. More innocent people would die. Then he'd find the cure and the vicious cycle would start all over again.

"I'll save you, Piers…" The knife he'd been holding no longer felt heavy. Running forward, he jumped on top of Piers, thrusting the sharp and bloodied end into the fleshy, electric arm that was before him. A hideous screech filled the air, piercing Chris' eardrums. As the arm jerked, the brunette felt the electricity discharge. His entire body went numb with pain but he didn't stop pushing the knife in. As another inhuman wail filled the air, Chris gave one final push, even the handle becoming lodged inside the tender skin of the mutated arm. Falling back, he grasped at the ground, grabbing a broken piece of glass and driving it into Piers' arm like he had the knife.

Another howl erupted. Another cry and then everything went silent.

The popping and hissing of the electricity died away as Piers's scream dimmed to a whimper. Chris, body burning and in severe pain, still clung to the disgusting arm. He wouldn't let go, he didn't dare. But his eyes reached up, catching a glimpse of the face of Piers Nivans.

He looked paler than before and the bulbous, yellow eye that had been there had disappeared, a fleshy mess of skin and muscle in its place. Then the arm Chris so desperately clung too began to steam and wiggle and, in the matter of a second, it retracted, racing up and into the torso it had once been attached too.

The motion caused Chris to stumble, landing on his back. Struggling to sit up, he watched in awe and horror as Piers' good eye looked down at him and, for the first time since Chris had seen him, seemed to recognize who he was.

Chris fought to speak. "…Piers…?"

Just then, Piers collapsed forward, landing upon the glass and part of Chris' legs. Every bit of pain was gone, his entire body swarming with concern, with fear, and with what Chris might even dare to call hope. Moving his legs from under Piers' collapsed form, Chris haphazardly turned Piers' body over, placing a dirty palm gently on his shoulder. "Piers? Piers, wake up."

His mind was spinning and so was the room. He felt hot despite the lower temperature of the lab, and yet, at the same time, he felt frozen to the core. Every part of his was quivering and no matter what he tried, he couldn't stop it.

"Please, wake up." He shook him again, this time with a little more force, "You can't quit on my now, Piers. You've got to get up."

The sudden stirring under his palm caused Chris to jump. Looking towards the messy hair of Piers' head, he could see the one good eye begin to open. It blinked a couple of times, though that didn't help rid the eye of its hazy, tired look.

Chris' voice nearly caught in his throat, "P-Piers?"

The eye looked up, that same familiarity there that he'd seen before Piers had passed out. "Cap…tain…?"

Rolling bundles of wet heat ran down Chris' face and, for the first time in his career as a BSAA agent, he didn't care if his own teammate saw him cry. "God, oh god! Piers!" The tears kept falling but he didn't give a damn. For the first time in a long time, Chris could pretend that everything was going to be okay.

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Attention! I have a quick question for everyone! I haven't decided if I want this to be a ChrisXPiers or just Chris and Piers friendship story. Let me know in your review. Vote or you can't complain ;)

Emil, out!


	4. 6:23 pm on August 3rd, 2014

A/N: The results are in. I want to thank the six people who voted! It means a lot to me that you took the time and invested in this story! If you didn't vote and the results aren't what you wanted, you can't complain. The six that did, however, feel free ;) Anyway, 4 to 2 says it's going to be a Piers and Chris friendship story.

Thanks for the reviews and thanks for the faves/follows of myself and/or the story! You guys are what keep me writing! Anyway, here's the next chapter! I hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to leave a review!

* * *

_Excerpt from a personal letter:_

…_I worked alongside your son for almost four years, and never was there a day I wasn't impressed by his strength, dedication and loyalty. I saw in him something that I rarely see now a day, especially in a world so clouded by hate and judgment as this one. I saw in him a fiery passion for justice. Never did I have to remind him of what our mission here at the BSAA is. In fact, on more than one occasion, he had to remind me and the men. Never did I have to ask him to work harder, he always did his best. Never did I have to pull him aside and bring him back in line. He was the one doing that for me. That quality that I so honored and respected is sadly, the reason I am writing you this letter…_

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Chapter Four: 6:23 pm on August 3rd, 2014

The first thing Chris had to do was find a way to patch up Piers' wounds. No doubt the gauze he'd seen back behind the curtain had been used to wrap the exposed injuries up, but now they were discarded and the brunette hesitated to use them. Besides, he also needed some thread or wire. The large gashes and tears along the stub of his use-to-be-there arm would only get worse if they weren't properly closed. Not that Chris wanted to put Piers under the knife any more than it appeared he had been, but there was little choice in the matter.

Piers expressed that he was in a great deal of pain and, though parts of his memory were foggy, he recalled they kept their medical supply in a pantry not far from the curtained sight. That was where Chris was headed. Dragging his sniper friend along, the two hobbled back down the hall, this time moving at a far slower pace than Chris had when he'd come in.

Upon reaching the end of the hall, Chris could see the legs of what use to be the medical table. The memory of narrowly missing being decapitated sent a shiver down his spine, one that didn't go unnoticed. "Captain?"

"Sorry, it's just the table…" He gave a weak gesture to it, a half smile crossing his face.

"Yeah," Piers spoke, voice small, "I wonder what happened to it."

"W-Wonder what happened to- Piers, you chucked it down the fucking hall!" He pointed at the steel contraption, its bulky frame tangled with the broken wooden shelves and thousands of splinters of glass. He looked at his friend, eyes shifting between the sniper and the table, but nothing except confusion crossed Piers' face. "You don't…remember, do you?"

"If I'm really the one that did that, then no." Shaking his head, Piers grimaced a little from the movement.

The captain of the BSAA frowned a little. So Piers couldn't remember turning into a monster and attempting to kill his former leader? For some reason, Chris didn't see that as a positive thing. Sure, the younger wouldn't have to feel guilty about attempting to kill one of his friends but, at the same time, it seemed extremely odd that such an angry tantrum would go unremembered. Shaking it off, he hurried Piers-though it was a _slow_ hurrying-down the hall. They reached the cabinet Piers had mentioned and Chris sat the sniper down on the ground, kicking away a dead body to make room.

"Don't be shoving me into any escape pods this time around, ok?"

Giving a soft smirk of a smile, Piers nodded, "Understood, captain."

Yanking open the wooden frame, which was surprisingly intact, he looked over the containers. Each was written in the same language he'd been unable to decipher since starting this little adventure on the island. Frowning again, he took each bottle inside the cabinet and popped open the lid, looking at the contents within. Several were pills he wouldn't dare give to Piers, as they looked more harmful than harmless. "Piers, can you read these labels? I'm trying to find you a pain killer." Handing down a bunch of little orange bottles, Piers took a handful at a time, placing them in his lap.

"I'll see what I can do, captain."

"Good." Pushing the dangerous looking pill bottles, which he'd kept with himself, to the side, he began looking for surgical supplies. He'd need to disinfect the wound, stitch it up, bandage it up and then locate some clean clothes for the both of them. Not to mention a supply bag. Piers would need constant medical attention. Just patching him up once wouldn't do. If they did end up playing this little game, they would be running through a tropical forest with who-knows-what waiting around every tree. "Hey, find an anti-bacteria and anti-viral, too. We wouldn't want you to get infected."

A bitter laugh came from Piers' lips and instantly Chris realized how stupid his statement was. Not only had Piers been infected with the c-virus strain, apparently he'd been infected with whatever virus the middle aged man had been working on as well. He didn't know the details, naturally the bastard wasn't willing to give anything away, but Piers had been in the picture the man had shown him, clearly labeled as a successful carrier.

"I'm sorry," Chris mustered, "I didn't mean it like that."

He heard the bottles topple a little and Chris peaked out of his little box to see what Piers was up to. The sniper had shifted the way he was sitting, moving the orange containers to one side of himself. "It's alright, Chris. I know. It's just…ironic."

_Does he even know he was infected with a new virus?_

Right then and there, Chris decided it'd be best to keep his mouth shut about it. No need to worry Piers more than he already was. He was still dealing with the fact that he'd been infected with the c-virus. No need to cheerfully announce to Piers that he was very possibly, almost certainly infected with some god-knows-what virus. The brunette couldn't see that conversation going well. Yes, best to wait until they were safe and sound in HQ. That way Piers felt like he had a fighting chance in the hands of the world's best virologists.

Finally finding the medical supplies he was looking for, Chris grabbed the stuff up and brought it to the floor. Pushing yet another dead body, or what he _thought_ was a body, out of the way, he sat close to Piers' right side, looking over the exposed muscles below the thin, raw skin. "Damn, what were those scientists doing to you?"

"I wish I knew. Like I said, I don't remember much." A saddened look crossed his face, "I _do_ remember when they took my arm away."

The sorrow in those words grabbed Chris' attention immediately. Looking at his former second, he could see the welling tears in the sniper's green eyes. Honestly, Chris had been far too distracted by HAOS to recall much of what Piers had been going through in that faithful fight. He remembered his second being tossed around like a rag doll, and then haphazardly discarded. He'd seen the way Piers' arm had splintered free of its socket, heard the way the bone crunched as the debris was thrown against it. He remembered that sickening slicing sound, as if someone were cutting a raw animal apart, but most of all he remembered the way Piers had screamed.

Chris knew, just knew, as he was constricted by HAOS, that Piers, should he survive, would never be able to use that arm again. Just by the sounds and the way he'd screamed, Chris knew. Even if it were still hanging on to the sniper's body, clinging by dead threads of skin, that arm would never be useful again. Amputation would be his only option and apparently, that was what the scientists had found, too.

But seeing the way Piers reacted to the memory, seeing the way his green eyes became glassy, Chris could tell it was far harder on him that the brunette would have ever thought.

Doing the only thing he knew to do, Chris reached up and placed a reassuring hand on Piers' destroyed shoulder, "When we get out of here, we'll get you fixed up, good as new. I promise."

Piers used his left hand to wipe at his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassment, "Right."

"Now, you keep looking for what I told you too. If it's not there, I'll bring down the dangerous looking pills and you can read those." He gave a smirk to his former second, who gave a tiny smile back.

He noted he'd have to ask what language it was later, as Piers had yet to express his inability to read it. He recalled reading Piers' profile at first recruitment. It hadn't seemed like a big deal then, but Piers was well versed in several languages.

He grabbed what he knew had been disinfectant and opened up the bottle. The smell of rubbing alcohol permeated the air, and it made him cough. Dabbing it onto the rag he'd found, he began to clean Piers' wound with it. At first contact, Piers let out a hiss, his eyes screwing shut. "Shit," he murmured.

"Sorry, this is going to hurt." Being as gentle as he could, he slowly ran the cloth along the raw skin. Piers' back arched up, his side trying to squirm away from the sting but Chris wouldn't let him. Using his hand to hold the sniper steady, he continued to clean, never letting the younger's body leave. Upon finishing, he removed the cloth and capped the alcohol, smirking to his second in command, "Well, how do you feel?"

"Worse."

"Good! That's how disinfectant is supposed to make you feel." Chris took the needle and hair thin thread in one hand while the other tenderly worked the broken skin close together.

Piers' eyes were screwed shut again, but he grunted out through gritted teeth, "I found the bottles you asked for."

Shooting a smile to the sniper, he nodded, "Thanks. Can you dry swallow them?" Nodding, Piers obtained the needed amount of pills in his hand, popping them into his mouth and swallowing quickly. He did the same thing with a couple other bottles, leaning his head back against the cool, stone wall once he was finished.

Chris spoke, positioning his needle and thread at the ready, "Try to keep yourself distracted. This is going to hurt like a bitch." Working the needle into the skin, he began to thread it through, pulling together the once separated flaps of skin. He could feel the former second tense with each poke but, much to Chris' amazement, he never once let out so much as a whimper. Eyes bolted closed and mouth zipped shut, Piers was taking the grunt of it like a man and Chris had to admit, he was very impressed.

Doing the best he could in sewing up the skin, he worked his way onto Piers' face, stitching closed the gooey orifice that his eye once sat in. Once done, he sat back and examined his incredibly crude handiwork. It definitely looked like a patch job, one that he was less than proud to call his own, but it would do for now. Again, if they could get off the island before tomorrow morning, Piers would be professionally treated.

Disinfecting it all again, much to Piers' displeasure, Chris ended his medical procedure by wrapping it up carefully. He did his best to cover every last stitch, all while making sure Piers' good arm wasn't hampered and his good eye wasn't covered. He'd used up every last bit of gauze and bandage but he'd managed to make an airtight seal on Piers' wounds. Standing up, he looked around a little, "Stay here while I pick up a few things."

A meek nod was all he got, which was fine with Chris, and he walked past the dead bodies. Searching the shelves of vials and beakers, he knew what he was looking for was slim, but he was hoping he'd find it anyway.

An actual sample of the virus.

He didn't want Piers to become a test subject. He'd been through enough as it was and subjecting him to more was almost inhumane. The other, and perhaps more selfish reason, for Chris wanting another vial of the virus was because, should Piers ask what brought Chris to the island, as he most certainly would, he could confess his real reason and not appear to be leaving empty handed.

Finally stumbling upon a shelf that hadn't been smashed, toppled or broken apart, he glanced over the vials that hung in their respective racks. There was nothing labeled 'virus' or something remotely close to it. If Chris wanted to get his hands on a bottled strand, he'd probably have to talk with the middle aged man upstairs. And that wasn't going to happen.

_I'll need an excuse…_

He picked up a vial labeled 'C6H12O6aq', not having a clue what the little letters and numbers meant. Making sure the glass container was securely capped, he removed the label and gripped it tightly in his hand. Making his way back through the destruction, he spotted a messenger bag sitting at the foot of one of the fractured computer systems.

Picking it up and examining it, he deemed it worthy of use and carried it back to Piers as well.

Upon returning, he saw that the sandy blonde had changed his position again, laying on the side that still possessed an arm with his knees curled in tightly. His eyes were open but he appeared to be very deep in thought. "Glad you made yourself comfortable," Chris finally said, startling the sniper.

Piers looked up at the sound of his captain's voice, "Sorry."

"No worries. Here, put all the pills in here. I'll even grab those creepy ones so you can tell me what they are later." Fishing out the pills, he handed them down to Piers, who'd pushed himself into a seated position. For a short while, they both worked in silence, one that bothered Chris. But the sniper seemed content with it, so, regardless of how much it irritated him, he kept his mouth shut.

Grabbing whatever else he thought he'd need, more rubbing alcohol and the like, he strapped the bag shut and chucked it over his shoulder. Offering his hand down to Piers, he helped his friend up to his feet. Chris gave him a brief up and down. He looked just as shitty as Chris did but the brunette loathed spending any more time in the lab. "Let's get moving. I'll explain along the way."

Piers nodded and the two headed to the exit of the lab.

* * *

Things will start to heat up quickly now that Chris and Piers are together. If you like this story and don't mind nivanfield, check out my other story, Piers' Lament! -Shameless advertising.

Don't forget to review!


	5. 5: 19 am on August 4th, 2014

__A/N: Finally got around to posting this chapter! I've actually gotten a number of chapters written over the past while, though we'll see when I get around to posting them (you're reviews might encourage me to get them up faster, eh?). Anyway, I do have a legitimate reason for not posting for a while. I decided to be a good student for the first time in my life and NOT procrastinate on all the papers I had due for finals (my professors like to make me write. A lot.). It's been busy but I've got only one more left so I decided to take a break and post this!

Anyway, thank you all so much for the follows and faves! Seeing those in my inbox makes me smile! Also, a special thanks to those of you who take the time to drop me a review! You guys are super awesome!

That's it for me! Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

_From: Claire_

_To: Leon_

_Hey. Have you heard from Chris? I've been trying to call him but he won't pick up._

* * *

Chapter Five: 5: 19 am on August 4th, 2014

The text came in the early parts of the morning and Leon had almost ignored it. He'd just gotten to sleep not twenty minutes ago and the annoying buzz that came from his bedside table was almost-_almost_- left untouched until the afternoon when Leon would have awoken from his slumber.

But a nagging feeling, the kind he always got when something bad was about to happen, gnawed at his stomach. Fighting all instincts to drift into pleasant slumber, he clicked on the backlight of his phone and was surprised to see the sender.

Claire.

They hadn't seen each other in quite a while. Yes, they talked often, met up as frequently as work would allow and even engaged in some less-than-kosher things, but it wasn't like her to text him at a godforsaken hour in the morning. Blue eyes read over the short couple of sentences, and he thumbed back a reply.

_Well, no, I haven't. He won't pick up for you? That's odd._

He sent the little message on its way, flopping from his back to his stomach. As he waited for a response, he scrunched up the pillows under his head and chest to make them more comfortable, fiddled with his blankets to make sure they were covering him completely and then finally rolled over again because he was tired of laying on his front. Another irritating buzz and he picked it back up off the night stand.

_I know, right? I'm really worried. The last time I talked to him, he said he was going on assignment but he hasn't contacted me since._

Leon rolled his eyes and replied.

_How long ago was that?_

Waiting yet again, he flipped and flopped some more, finally snuggling in just as the little machine made its noise.

_Yesterday._

Giving off a huff, he took the phone and hit the 'call' button, the long rings humming in his ear before finally he got a, "Hello?" from the other end.

"Claire, if he was sent yesterday, he probably hasn't gotten back with you because he's busy. You know what they say about phones and the field. They don't mix."

Claire's voice spoke up, concern plastered in every word, "I know, I know but, I can't shake the feeling, you know? Like something bad has happened to him."

Sliding a hand down his face, Leon growled, "Look, I'm sure he's fine. You're such a worrier. Remember that time when he was sent to Kazakhstan and you were positive he'd been killed?"

There was a pause on the other side of the phone and then a reluctant, "Yes."

"Now, what really happened?"

"His phone battery had died on the plane so he had to wait until he reached his headquarters to call me."

Leon nodded as he spoke, "That's right. And what about that other time, where he hadn't contacted you in 2 days after departing to Chili and you'd started prepping funeral plans with your family because you'd convinced them Chris was dead?"

Claire gave a frustrated sigh, "Ok, ok, I remember. Those were all _big_ overreactions on my part, but this time I know I'm right. Something's wrong. Really wrong."

Letting out a long, heavy sigh, the blonde turned over in his bed once more, eyes staring out the large window that stood from floor to ceiling. He could already see the sun painting the edges of every tall building a blinding orange. Soon, he knew, those colors would spread, like water being absorbed by paper, and a brilliant sunrise would lift above the looming towers of DC center. "If you're really _that_ worried about it, then why don't you meet me at DSO HQ and we can look into his report status?" He could practically imagine the smile growing on her red lips, the way it would reach those beautiful blue eyes of hers. The way her face would glow, Leon could see it all.

"Really? Thank you, Leon! That would make me feel _so so so so so_ much better! Can we meet now?"

"Sure," Leon smirked despite himself, "I wasn't doing anything important anyway."

They both said their goodbyes and Leon ended the call. Every muscle in his body protested getting up, every ounce of brain matter demanded he get to sleep but he knew he couldn't leave Claire hanging. Once her fears were put to rest, he'd come back and get the sleep he needed. Standing and stretching, he walked over to his dresser and pulled out a clean dress shirt, a good vest and a dark wash pair of jeans. He'd go dressy casual, just to look like he wasn't trying to impress her. As he dressed himself, he absently thought about what she would be wearing. Maybe a pair of skinny jeans, probably those neon colored ones that were so in style right now, with a trendy t and a cute coat, one that wasn't too frilly but wasn't too tommy, either. She was definitely still a tomboy, but Claire had branched out since her days of zombie killing.

Fully clothed, Leon headed into the bathroom and quickly gurgled some mouth wash, not wanting to bother with taking the time to brush his teeth at the moment, and threw on a dash of cologne. Be it unlike him to meet with a pretty girl without his signature smell? After running his fingers through his hair to get rid of any tangles, he glanced at himself in the mirror.

He looked good enough, he supposed. At least it didn't look like he'd just woken up anymore.

Heading out the door, he locked it behind himself and headed to his car. Leon knew she'd already be there, that was just Claire's style, so he didn't want to be too late. Shifting gears and driving away, Leon flipped on the radio and listened to the news. It'd become a habit of his, listening for any big events going on. Naturally, anything bio-terrorism related, he'd already heard about and dealt with but it didn't keep him from being paranoid. One of these days, he though, the government wouldn't be able to detect one in time. It'd be all over the news before the BSAA, FOS or any other government entity could respond to it. He could practically see the reports' faces as they witnessed what truly was a 'hell on earth' situation. Mentally scraping the image, he turned up the radio instead, listening to them mindlessly banter over nothing.

As he arrived at the DSO building, the first thing he spotted was Claire's motorcycle.

_Yup, she's here first…_

Parking his car next to it, he got out and headed up the large stairwell at the front of the marble building. From the outside, it reminded Leon of a Wall Street bank, what with its tall, pearly columns and long flat steps. Even upon entering, it looked like a wealthy bank. There were secretaries everywhere, people bumbling about, paperwork stacked in their hands. Even at this early hour, there was activity.

And the blonde thought _he_ never slept.

As he made his way inside, he spotted Claire not too far off. She was in a pair of colored skinny jeans, bright blue, but what she wore on top was concealed by a long, dark coat, one that buckled in the middle and was adorned with buttons. He was close enough, he figured.

"Claire," he called, instantly catching her attention. She sent a warm smile his way, her booted feet walking towards him quickly as he did the same. Meeting in the middle, she gave him a huge hug, Leon returning it tentatively.

Speaking through the tight squeeze, she said, "I'm so glad you met with me. I swear, I'm going to go crazy if I don't get some answers." Leon smiled into her hair, the sweet smell of she'd described as 'coconut lime breeze' engulfing his senses.

"I do what I can to keep you sane. Now let's get to my office, we can look into Chris' location there."

The two headed deeper into the building, Leon flashing his creds several times along the way. The bank-like atmosphere, which had been so heavily present, began to decay to the simplicity of tall black walls, which were actually giant holographic computer screens that could be turned on at a moment's notice. Sleek, metal work stations littered the middle of the massive room, an area respectably known as the bullpen. All around it, those black walls were designed into stairs, leading to conference rooms and offices that overlooked the bullpen area, as well as the thin, hallway entrance they arrived through. Catwalks stood high above, leading to different sections of the building that looked just like this one did.

The government always hid its secrets, and the DSO building was no different. It was designed with the best and most advance technology available, but on the outside it looked like nothing more than a regular bank or conference center.

Not that all of its fancy décor made that much of an impression on him anymore, counting he'd been working inside the facility for a while now. Regardless, he could tell Claire was impressed just by looking at her face, so he kept her moving by taking hold of her arm and dragging her along.

Reaching his work space in the bullpen, Leon noted the new files that had arrived at his desk. He'd always kept a tidy desk, so the appearance of things being haphazardly tossed onto it irritated him. Pushing aside the annoyance, he filed them away into the proper cabinet, making a mental note to look at them later, and clicked his computer to life. It was a paper thin monitor, one that displayed a holographic image. And the keyboard was no different. It was just a flat, black rectangle, at least until the computer was turned on. Holographic lights blinked to life, displaying the keys.

He heard Claire whistle, "Damn, so the Bat Cave does exist. It's just owned by the government."

Leon smirked at her, "Isn't everything?" He quickly keyed in his password, the main screen being displayed shortly after. Pictures of Sherry and Claire filtered across the desktop in a slideshow fashion, and the way Claire grinned about it made Leon blush slightly. "What? I miss you guys, is that a crime?"

"No, of course not, I'm just surprised." A devious smirk crossed her face, one that reminded Leon that Claire was indeed Chris' little sister, "What, no porn?"

It was his turn to grin, "Sorry, Claire. Not at work."

Working his magic at the keyboard, he finally reached the mainframe for government agents and their assignments. Typing in BSAA and Chris Redfield, the mark 'Confidential' appeared as a result. He clicked on it, entering his password several more times, until a screen full of information appeared before him. There were several pictures present, some of partially mutated life forms and some were mug shots of a middle aged man holding a number card and standing in front of a measuring wall.

"Operation: Interlude." Claire read softly. Leon only nodded, a bit surprised that he hadn't been informed of the operation at all. Normally, he was well within the loop of the happenings of every bioterrorism branch of government. Even if he wasn't directly involved with it, he was still made aware of activities being conducted outside of his sphere of influence.

Scrolling down, he reached the records at the end, the place that would electronically log flights, cancellations, reports, emergency calls and all other kinds of things. It tracked the progress of the operation, but the section was surprisingly empty.

Leon looked over the few bullet points on the list, his eyes widening along with Claire's. Three points were listed, both being far earlier in the previous morning.

Point one:130am Flight 7894 taken-CR en route

Point two: 213am EmCall: 0:44 sec

Point Three: 257am Flight 7894 down-CR MIA

* * *

Just a heads up to everyone! Resident Evil: Revelations is coming to console and will be available to buy on May 21st! I already pre-ordered a copy so if you haven't, get on that! It's supposed to be very good.

The demo for the game comes out May 14th, so if you're hesitant about getting it, try out the demo then.

Capcom should pay me, I advertise for them so much. Anyway, Don't forget to review!


	6. 6:38 am on August 4th, 2014

__A/N: Well, here's the next chapter! I got a message from one of my regular reviewers and they said that they didn't get an alert for Chapter 5 and happened to notice it'd updated when looking through different fanfiction. My guess is the system was being screwy.** So, double check that you read chapter five! **Otherwise this chapter will be a tad confusing.

Thanks to those who reviewed! I love getting to read your thoughts and comments!

Enjoy!

* * *

_Notice posted:_

_The air conditioner is being repaired this week. Any noise of construction is apologized for in advance._

_-DSO Maintenance_

* * *

Chapter Six: 6:38 am on August 4th, 2014

"What do you mean he's MIA? How do you lose track of the BSAA's best man?" Several startled looks crossed the bullpen, giving Leon curious-though disapproving-glances. He didn't care at the moment, he was tired of getting the go around. "Let me speak to the Director of the BSAA North American Branch, she'll listen to me."

He glanced at Claire, a worried look crossing her face, and then back at the notepad he'd been scribbling his frustrations on. The once little yellow page was stained with blue ink, so much so the blonde was running out of room. Ripping off the sheet, he disposed of it and continued his unfair assault on the next sheet. The words being spoken in his ear were less than satisfying, "Look, do you know who I am? I'm Leon S. Kennedy and I demand to speak with the director!"

Normally, Leon considered himself a calm and collected guy, but upon seeing that Chris Redfield was MIA after his plane crashed, well, he was about ready to make heads roll. He just couldn't believe the BSAA would be doing _nothing_ about it. Their best agent, missing, and all they wanted to do was stay in their posh little offices. Not only that, but due to the construction happening beyond the air vents, the area had become rather noisy. The screwing and hammering was testing his patients, as was the man on the other line.

"Finally," he spoke, more towards Claire than the annoying man on the phone. His blue eyes landed on hers, and he could see the mounting concern.

For once, Claire's gut feeling about her brother had been right.

The redhead mouthed, "Did you get in contact with the director?"

Nodding as a response, Leon instantly stood at attention upon hearing the new voice over the speaker. "Yes, this is Leon S. Kennedy. I see it's been reported that Chris Redfield is MIA, is that true?"

The director, a middle aged woman with a strong, alto voice, replied, "Unfortunately, it is."

"And what's being done about it?"

There was a brief pause on the other side of the line, "I think we should discuss this in person."

"I understand," Leon spoke, "But, can I bring a friend? It's Redfield's sister."

Another pause and then a confirmed answer. Saying their formal goodbyes, Leon clicked off the holo-screen of his phone and regarded Claire. The worry was obvious in her features, even more so in her eyes. God, Leon hated seeing her concerned. "The director said you can sit in on our discussion. Sound good?"

She nodded and the two headed out, leaving the technologically advanced-and currently noisy-office space to reenter the world in front. Quickly, they bolted down the DSO HQ stairs, Leon shouting to Claire to come with him. She did so, leaving her motorcycle to be picked up later. They didn't have the luxury of arriving at separate times. Making a hasty, and probably illegal, record time, they reached the corporate office of the BSAA.

Leon flashed his credentials so many times, he didn't even bother tucking it back into his vest pocket any more. As he made it through the final check point, he reached the director's office. Upon entering, he spotted her. She was brewing coffee at her personal coffee making station. Sending a small smile their way upon entering, she nodded for them to take a seat in the comfortable chairs positioned at the front of her desk. "Would either of you like some coffee?"

The redhead shook her head, but Leon nodded. Even with the excitement that had ensued, the sleep he desperately needed was beginning to creep up on him. The director, a Dr. Henrietta Silversteen, poured him a cup of the freshly brewed grounds, the aroma filling the air pleasantly. Bring over the cup, she handed it to Leon, who nodded gratefully, before returning to her own chair and taking a sip.

"Now," she stated, lowering the cup and folding her hands upon her desk, "You are concerned about Chris Redfield."

"Yes," Claire piped in, glancing at Leon to assure she was not speaking out of turn, "What's being done to find my brother?"

The director took another sip of her coffee before speaking, "Currently, Alpha team has been dispatched to locate him. At present, nothing but the crash remains have been located."

"And where exactly are those remains?" Leon asked after greedily finishing over half his cup of coffee.

Motioning to a map on her far wall, Henrietta spoke, "About 200 miles from the mouth of the Amazon. They've been combing the coastline since yesterday but they've only found debris."

Leon could see the horrified look slowly covering the redhead's face, and he quickly asked, "But you think there's a chance he's alive?"

She hesitated a moment and Leon wondered if she was trying to decide between telling a lie or telling the truth. He hoped against hope it was the truth, "We do think that Redfield is alive. He has excellent survival training and good instincts. No doubt he's simply without a means of contacting the BSAA."

The look on Claire's face told the blonde she wasn't fully convinced, but he wasn't either. Deciding to not bring those uncertainties to the light, he changed the topic a little, "Is it known how the plane crashed?"

"The black box hasn't been located yet, and I'm afraid that if they don't locate it soon, the salt water might damage it too much for it to be useful."

Leon shook his head, "What I mean, director, is do you think it was an act of terrorism."

A heavy weight settled in the room and Leon could tell the question made Henrietta uncomfortable. It even made him uncomfortable, but he wouldn't put it past a bioterrorist. Their goal was to unleash hell on earth and Chris Redfield was a major threat to that. How easy would it be to tamper with the plane before launch?

And the fact that the plane had crashed while Chris was en route to investigate a possible terrorist plot? Leon thought that was just far too convenient.

Henrietta cleared her throat, "We aren't ruling out the possibility but we certainly don't want to jump to that conclusion."

"And why not?" Claire interjected as she moved forward in her seat, "Chris has a huge target on his back, what if he was grabbed and someone crashed the plane to make it look like an accident?"

The director jumped in, a rush of impatient in her voice, "We can't assume that every tragedy ties back to the BSAA. Sometimes bad things happen and there is no one person to blame for it." Claire glared into Henrietta's dark eyes, neither of them surrendering their stance on the issue. The older of the two women continued speaking, "Besides, considering it an act of terrorism would require immediate action for several BSAA units as well as approval by the UN to take action. If it turns out it was just an accidental crash or that Chris Redfield survived, the North American BSAA branch would lose its credibility."

"But he's vital to the BSAA."

"So is every man and woman, but lives are lost and sometimes, it is without meaning."

The two grew silent, only adding to the uncomfortably tense atmosphere. Leon spoke up, "Besides, Claire, all of those extra men? They'd hinder rather than help. And besides," he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, causing her to glance over at him, "We're going to be heading there ourselves."

There was a sudden rush of noise as Henrietta stood up, slamming her hands on the desk, "You will do no such thing, Mr. Kennedy."

"Oh really?" Leon asked, standing and finishing off the rest of his coffee.

"This is not a DSO matter, therefore you are not permitted to interfere."

Leon smirked, helping Claire out of her seat. He walked towards the door, the redhead following after. Discarding the little coffee cup, he turned to regard the director, "Then consider me on vacation." And with that, they left.


	7. 3:50 pm on August 3rd, 2014

__A/N: It's here! The next chapter! As always, I want to thank those of you who reviewed. You guys and gals are great and I really, really, really appreciate hearing from you.

If you're liking this fanfiction, check out Breaking Sanity, written by me as well! I'm sure you'll like it, too!

Enjoy and Review!

* * *

_From:_

_To: Jake_

_It's been a while. We need to catch up._

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Chapter Eight: 3:50 pm on August 3rd, 2014

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"So, you said you're headed towards the Amazon?"

The dusty streets of the tiny village were alive with people, ones coming and going to places Jake didn't really care to know about. It seemed like everyone had a story. Thankfully, _most_ weren't willing to share it. But, naturally-as Sherry said it would-his charming personality managed to catch the _one_ person around who _did_ want to share. And she'd been sharing non-stop with him since he'd gotten off the airplane in Mexico.

It was the first time she'd actually asked a question about what _he was_ doing, instead of endlessly talking about herself. "As a matter of fact, yes," he replied, keeping his tone pleasant.

"Okay then, why are you in Mexico? You _do_ know the Amazon rainforest is in Brazil, right?"

Smirking, Jake commented sarcastically, "Really? I thought it was in Africa."

"Nope," her happy tone stabbed his eardrums, "It's in Brazil. It sure is good you met me, otherwise you'd be really, really, _really_ lost!"

Mumbling, the redhead wasn't the least bit amused, "Yeah, good thing, huh?" Turning off the beaten path, he entered a small shack. Although it was rather torn as well, it still shielded him from the harsh sun and, despite the stifling dry air, it was far more comfortable than the outside. Per usual, the owner of the establishment, some kind of eatery, Jake assumed, eyed the two newcomers suspiciously. Not only were they both distinctly white, but Jake wasn't doing anything to hide the weapons he was carrying, a handgun and a magnum. Walking over to a table, he sat down, lowering his travel bag onto the dirty, wooden floor. The chipper young girl sat down across from him in his little booth and smiled cheerfully at him.

Digging into his things, he pulled out the map of South America he had-_still had_-from a mercenary trip several years ago. Unfolding it, he laid it upon the entire table, parts of the delicate paper flopping over the edge.

"Why is it covered in lines and circles?" the girl asked.

"I've been to these circled parts before, and _these_," he traced his finger along the red lines that littered the sheet, "Are the paths I took."

Jake didn't pay much mind in her examining the inked markings; instead, he focused on what he was looking for. Putting his elbows on the table, he rested his head in his hands as he looked down at the confusing marks. Arrows pointing this way and that, cities and apparent nowheres circled several times, some with an X marked through them. The stains stretched all the way down the continent of South America. But he knew where he was going.

Dropping one hand and pointing to the city he'd just left, he traced his finger along a pathway marked in red. It took him through several places before finally landing him in the outskirts of the Amazon. From there, he knew, he'd be relying on instinct to get himself to where he needed to be.

"Why don't you just fly to Brazil? That would be easier than taking a bus the entire way."

Jake looked up, seeing his unwanted dirty blonde companion staring at him. Smirking, he said, "Who said I'm taking a bus?"

She looked shocked, "You're walking there? That's insane!"

"Don't need to inform the entire room, honey." Jake went to work folding the paper back into its proper state. Tucking it back into his messenger bag and slinging the bag over his shoulder, he stood up and walked towards the door, the young girl following after.

"But it's true," she stated, running to his side, "You'll die before you even get there. There are bandits and drug cartels and snakes and-"

Jake stopped her before she could say anything more, "The _drug_ _cartels _mostly operate on the border, along the coast and in the central most plains of Mexico. As for _bandits_," he patted the guns he had holstered, smiling towards her, "I've got it covered."

He footed forward, striding widely in attempts to lose her. Stepping out, the bright orange sun stung at his eyes and skin. "But you didn't have any solution for the snakes!"

_Really? Of all the things she's worried about, _snakes_ are the big issue?_

"It's not like you're coming, you know."

"But I want too! It sounds like fun!"

Jake halted his footsteps right then, the dirty blonde running right into him. "Why are we stopping," she asked.

Taking a deep breath, the redhead turned on his heel, having to look down to see her face. She was even shorter than Sherry, he noted. Keeping his voice even and low, he spoke, "This little 'adventure' isn't for 'fun'. I'm tracking someone and I fully intend to kill him when I find him. Now, I'm walking all the way to the Amazon, stopping at different places to tear the balls off of anyone that may have information on my guy. Can you _handle_ sitting back and watching me do that? As I'm guessing you can't, I suggest you head back to wherever it was you were going…_Before_ this entire thing consumes you too."

After a tense moment, Jake turned around again, stepping lively. He listened intently but he didn't hear her follow.

As he walked alone for several hours, the hot and overbearing sun finally lowered to the rim of the earth. The land before him was beginning to cool down, much to Jake's relief. He was tired of traversing the sun-stained land and was very much ready for the colder night air.

A sudden rustle, however, caught his attention, and he looked in the direction of said disturbance. Off of his path, about 50 feet, were a line of bushes and short trees. They blended in with the others like them, creating a break in the bleak display of sand and dirt.

His blue eyes drilled on it for a long while, looking for any sign of movement.

_An animal would have moved again by now…_

The weight of the redhead's gun hung heavily on his hip, a reminder of his choices. Turning his attention back in the direction he was headed, he continued but stayed on guard. It wasn't more than 10 steps later that he heard the rustle again, only this time it was louder and far more pronounced.

_Someone's here…!_

Swiftly, he twisted his body to the side, pulling his gun. He didn't get the chance to fire it before he was hit in the side of the head, throwing him into the dirt. He gave a grunt but worked his body up before another blow could land. Jake stumbled backwards, glaring forward. He was greeted with nothing. "What the…hell?"

Another hit from behind, crumbling Jake to the ground. His entire world was spinning, causing everything to fade between reality and black. He struggled to keep himself conscious. Rule number one, don't leave yourself open.

Attempting to get up again, a foot came crashing down between his shoulders, making him wince as his head was thrown back into the biting bits of tanned gold.

"Sh-Shit…"

A male's voice, one Jake faintly recognized, spoke, though rather softly, "And he said you'd be tough to take down. Again, he lies to me. But I suppose you and I should expect that from him, hmm?"

"I don't know…what you're talking…about."

"He said I could kill you if I so choose, but I do think you'll fetch a hefty dollar or two so, I'll hold off on the 'killing' thing."

Jake felt his body being lifted from the ground, his arms wrenched behind his back as his guns and carrying bag were stripped away. He could see several more men coming from the brush and instantly he had a sinking feeling. This wasn't going to end well. Wherever they took him, whatever they did to him, this really wasn't going to end well.


End file.
